George Steinbrenner never truly occupied this new building. His energy, his endless demand for winning and — of course — his money helped turn the current Yankee Stadium from concept to $1.5 billion tribute to what his franchise became during his reign:

The biggest, the most expensive, the most discussed.

But Steinbrenner was never The Boss in this place. His visits were rare, low key and often assisted by a wheelchair. He inspired more sympathy in the new building than fear. Employees did not run and hide, as they did when he showed up regularly — and often unexpectedly — in the old Stadium, but rather moved closer for an embrace.

The larger-than-life man who launched a thousand eulogies with his death Tuesday no longer existed when The House That Ruth Built was replaced by The House That George Built in April 2009.

Only last night — the first game played since Oct. 4, 1972, without him atop the organization’s masthead — did this truly become Steinbrenner’s home. Finally and final.

He becomes the vibrant Boss again here. Forever.

This is now the place that honors his legend and passes it on to the next generation: shrine and museum. Last night, it became a meeting place for grieving and celebrating.

Mariano Rivera put two roses on home plate to memorialize Steinbrenner and Bob Sheppard in the first game at the Stadium since both passed away. Derek Jeter asked the packed house for a moment of silence.

There was no public-address announcements during the game, in tribute to Sheppard. And everyone in a Yankee uniform wore a patch with the initials GMS over the heart, to honor George Michael Steinbrenner. They’ll continue doing so the rest of the year.

“It is not the patch on our heart,” said manager Joe Girardi, fighting tears, before the game. “It is what we have in it.”

That feeling now pervades the organization, fills the atmosphere at the new Stadium. Steinbrenner was a physical ghost here, attending fewer than 10 games in two years, cloaked from the media and scrutiny by a phalanx of security.

The man who cherished winning above all else attended just one playoff game last year, and his final two games in The Bronx were the first two of this season. Before the home opener, Girardi and Jeter went to the owner’s box and presented him with his seventh, and final, championship ring.

Steinbrenner never came back. Now he’ll be here every day, the man who built the building and created the organizational mandate that must continue to be met.

“Every day you walk into the Stadium, you think about The Boss, because we would not be here if it were not for him,” Jeter said. “The message is the same. We are still expected to win.”

In the old Stadium, Steinbrenner delivered that message with the force of his personality. He threatened, cajoled, harassed. He provoked both love and hate in the front office and the stands. But that old building is gone, even the rubble cleared away. And now he’s gone, too.

In this new place, a beloved Steinbrenner is all that remains. He wasn’t here much, but now he is here forever. His legend and rules of engagement for his baseball team remain.

“We know exactly what he would want us to do,” Girardi said. “He would want us to go out and play hard and win.”

The message will be the daily presence long after the video tributes, tears and sustained ovations fade.